Cabin Fever
by when-the-music's-over
Summary: Sherlock and John are chasing the bad guy again. This time they end up in the woods, lost! What will happen if the couple is forced to stay in a tiny cabin? ESTABLISHED!JOHNLOCK :D
1. Chapter 1

Established relationship between Sherly and Jawn! :) This story _can_ be seen as a sequel to "no shit, sherlock" but you don't necessarily need to read it to understand the story! (only if you want some backstory to how they got together in my mind xD) anyway... hope you like it! (rated T just to be safe)

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><p>The snow got thicker every minute. If they would have had time to stop and look around, they would have noticed that they were in beautiful, fairy-tale-like scenery. Every tree coated in white, big snow flakes circling all around them. Pretty high up on the mountain, you could spend days hiking around without encountering a single soul. Totally cut off from civilization. Some people would probably come here on purpose, to find the peace and true happiness of life.<p>

To partake in this pure form of life, be one with nature! You could experience the real joy of life here because it's in every molecule around you. And just _live_! Lord Byron wrote: "There is a pleasure in the pathless woods". You could hear the blanket of snow which covered the ground crunch under your feet. That beautiful sound it makes when it's never been touched until you set your foot on it.

And here they are. Our favourite heroes. Holmes and Watson. They're together for about three months now. Their love being as new as the freshly fallen snow on the mountain top. Three months that had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions! Discovering their feelings for each other, experiencing their first kiss, having sex for the first time, going through the motions of being openly gay. Now, everything had settled in. And this was a whole new challenge. Living a normal, domestic life with each other while solving crimes all around London. An awful lot of running … _and_ an awful lot of snogging.

They felt pretty comfortable around each other by now, but not yet so comfortable to lose every notion of shyness. There were still awkward moments, neither of them knowing how to react. Even though they had already lived together for over a year, being best friends with someone doesn't mean you know everything about him. It most importantly does not mean that you know how someone reacts to certain things when being in a relationship. Stuff that John didn't care about before was now utterly important. For a rational mind like Sherlock's, impossible to understand! _Why would anything change just because I'm allowed to kiss you now?_

You just can't grasp the subtle ways of human relationships with logic.

Being in a relationship doesn't protect you from getting into a fight over the empty milk bottle or body parts in the fridge. All these small things they still had to learn.

Of course, the passion…! Oh, the passion was as ablaze as always. Ignited with fire and basically - hormones, Sherlock was unstoppable. John had thought he had seen him exhilarated before, when his mind was itching him, his boredom straining his sanity. Shooting a gun inside the house was the least of his problems now.

But all of this didn't matter now because they were stuck.

"Push! Push goddamn it!"

"Sherlock, I'm trying as hard as I can! Why don't you give it a try?" John's forehead was glistening with sweat even though it was below freezing point up here. He was standing behind the car, panting from trying to push it out of the hole it was stuck in.

"Alright! Let me have a go!"

John and Sherlock exchanged places, John now hitting the accelerator and covering Sherlock in snow and mood while he was pressing his back against the back of the car.

"Stop! Stop! It doesn't work."

John shut off the engine and stood besides Sherlock, examining the mess they were stuck in.

"We're totally deadlocked. No moving forwards or backwards now."

"Yeah, it's because you've managed to make two ruts with all the driving back and forth!"

"Oh, shut up! It's hardly my fault! Who wanted to take your sister's car? It's a freakin Honda, John! It's not build to drive through roads like these! We should have taken Mycroft's Jeep!"

"How was I supposed to get the fuckin Jeep and keep track of the killer? We needed to follow him fast, I had my sister's car right in front of the house, so we took it! Should I have gone to Buckingham Palace first or wherever Mycroft seems to hide these days?"

"Oh, for God's sake! Give me your phone!" Sherlock held out his hand.

"Why?"

"Do I really have to spell everything out for you? Because our car is stuck in the middle of nowhere and I'm gonna get hypothermia if I stand in this cold any longer!"

"Then use your own phone!" John didn't really know why he was being so stubborn. But sometimes you just have to do everything to keep your dignity, even if it means risking pneumonia.

"Because I left it at home…" Sherlock mumbled, looking up and down the deserted road. If you could call it that, by now it was barely possible to make out what was road and what was forest.

"You left it at home? Jesus Christ!" John jerked his mobile out of his pocket, watching Sherlock pull up his coat collar. Two men, sulking in an oncoming blizzard. Great.

"Here. No wait. There's no signal."

Sherlock let his head fall back and shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing his arms.

"What now?"

"Well, we could try to walk back but it's much too far and it's getting dark already. We would probably end up lost and freeze to death."

"That's a great idea. Let's go!" Anything but standing in the cold at the side of the road with Sherlock _Ice-man_ Holmes sounded better by now.

"I'm not doing that! I don't intend to lose any limbs tonight. I might need those in the future." Sherlock made a desperate effort to get on John's good side and winked. John raised one eyebrow and shook his head.

"Don't give me that look, Sherlock!" He started walking downhill.

"Wait! What if we stay in the car?" Sherlock followed him, his arms wrapped around his body to keep off the cold.

"We don't have enough petrol to keep the heater running. The battery will probably run out as well. As you pointed out earlier, this car is not made for cross-country adventures."

"But I can't walk back home!"

"Jesus, Sherlock. You are acting like a five-year-old! Maybe if you wouldn't wear this damn coat all the time, you would be warm now. I know it looks great on you and it makes you seem _reeaally_ cool when you have your collar turned up, but it's not very practical! It's as thin as my sweater!"

Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Now you're insulting my coat? Come on, John! That's just ridiculous! I remember very vividly that a certain someone once forced me to wear it in a very uncompromising situation. You know, without anything else underneath it!"

John stood there for a second, giggling to himself as he thought back to that evening. Then reality hit him again.

"It doesn't matter! You're cold now, so what do you propose we do?"

"Well, we can't walk back. I heard the weather forecast earlier, a blizzard is coming."

"A BLIZZARD? And when did you plan to tell me that?"

John was practically fuming.

"Hold on a second!"

John shifted from one foot to the other. He was trying to fight the urge to punch Sherlock. If he would make him stand in this cold any longer, something bad was going to happen.

"What now?"

"I just remembered something! I think we passed a cabin half a mile back. We could go there!"

John exhaled heavily. Finally! Maybe Sherlock's super-brain wasn't so worthless in this situation after all.

"Alright, let's go then. I can't feel my feet!"

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><p>Half an hour later, they were standing in front of the small cabin. A snow storm was already forming around them.<p>

John jumped up the small porch and jiggled the door handle.

"Great, it's locked!"

He walked up and down the wooden porch while Sherlock examined the door. The whole cabin was made out of wood, looked quite small from the outside, probably only one room. But there was a chimney, so at least they could make a fire to warm up.

Sherlock threw himself against the door.

"No, it's not!"

John chuckled and shook his head. Sherlock smiled at him and shrugged his shoulders as if wanting to say _I didn't do it!_

"Come on, let's get inside."

The cabin wasn't quite as small as it looked after all. It contained two rooms, the larger one functioning as the living room, a bed jammed in one corner, the smaller one seemed to be the kitchen. But there was no stove or water connection, only two shelves with dusty plates.

"Looks like there hasn't been anyone here in awhile."

The wall overlooking the hillside was almost entirely made out of glass. A big glass door with a large window gave a beautiful look into the snowy woods.

An L-shaped sofa was positioned in front of the window so you could look out into the woods but also sit in front of the fireplace.

"I'll make a fire!"

John let out a laugh and took the piece of wood that Sherlock was holding. Fortunately, there was dry wood stacked next to the fireplace.

"I'm not gonna let you set this cabin on fire. Have you even made a fire before?"

Sherlock was obviously a bit hurt by his remark.

"No."

"You see! I've watched you experimenting in our kitchen for awhile now. Our car breaking down is enough adventure for one day. I was in the army, remember? I know how to make a fire!"

Sherlock sighed.

"Yeah, but… do you have matches?"

He waved a pack of matches in front of him. John smiled and motioned for him to throw them over.

"Go look if there's any food. I would hate to turn this into the Donner party."

A few minutes later, Sherlock returned with what he could find.

"Alright, we've got fifteen bags of beef jerky, five cans of baked beans and a bottle of Talisker whiskey!"

"No water?"

"No, but we can melt some snow for that."

John nodded approvingly.

"Talisker whiskey?" He took the bottle. "Wow, that's a 25-years-old one! Why would someone leave this bottle up here?"

"Well, I guess they don't suspect strangers breaking into their cabin because they chased a serial killer up here and they're car got stuck in the snow. And it's probably good to wash down that horrible beef jerky stuff."

John chuckled.

"Well, I guess we are really stuck here for awhile."

"Looks like it."

"Still no signal on your phone?"

"Nope. We'll probably have to wait till the blizzard's gone through."

Holmes and Watson. Stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Henry David Thoreau said "I went into the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front of the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach."

Well, maybe they weren't seeking for the true meaning of life but they sure had some time to kill!

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><p>All writers love reviews! It's like a drug to us :P and it usually makes us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2! :) Although I've roughly outlined where the story will go, I'm just seeing this as a writing practice at the moment, so we'll see where it takes us ;)

Hope you enjoy!

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><p>John was sitting in front of the fireplace, slowly warming up and rubbing his hands together. A small rug was laid out on the floor, John had taken off his shoes and jacket. Although he was a bit worried about what was going to happen if the blizzard would hold on for more than a few days, he also kind of enjoyed being able to stay here with Sherlock. It was like a small holiday. One that he absolutely needed. Since the case in Baskerville they hadn't gotten much time to relax.<p>

Of course, if you would ask Sherlock he was quite happy about that. After all, he could be a real pain in the ass when he was bored. But somehow, ever since they had gotten together, his usual dance around the flat hadn't been '_performed_'. No shooting guns, no nervous jumping up and down furniture. Of course, there had been a few other things on his mind. Mostly John's lips to be exact. But come to think of it, John did found that a bit weird. It was almost like he was trying to hold back.

"What I would give to have some tea right now." Sherlock walked around the couch and sat down besides John.

John let his hands sink down in his lap and turned his head to Sherlock, looking up and down his body.

"What? What are you looking at?"

John raised an eyebrow.

"Could you put some clothes on?"

Sherlock was sitting beside him in nothing but boxer shorts.

"No! They're soaking wet. I don't want to get a cold."

John shook his head, chuckling.

"Since when do you have a problem with me naked anyway?"

"I don't know. I'm still a bit mad at you." He grumbled.

"Mad? At me? Why are _you_ mad at _me_? If anything, I should be mad at _you_!"

"Oh, I don't know."

"I think you just like to pout."

John met his gaze and couldn't help but smile. Sherlock gave him a little peck on the lips. He had to admit, Sherlock looked pretty handsome in the red glow of the fire. His pale skin and dark curls that were still a bit wet, that little wrinkles around his eyes when he smiled at him. He tried to rest his eyes on his face though, he didn't want to lose himself staring at his muscular chest, at least not _yet_.

"Are you though?"

"Am I what?"

"Mad at me?"

"No! Well... actually, I don't even care that we're stuck here."

"Really?" John was honestly surprised by that.

"It doesn't bother you that the killer's probably miles away by now?"

Sherlock's eyes rested on the fire, the wood crackling quietly. He just shrugged.

"I know I will find him again. I know his mind, he will come back. He _wants_ us to find him."

"I love that you have so much confidence in yourself. You don't even care that he could be killing someone right now, because the great Sherlock Holmes will find him anyway!" He said sarcastically, but he didn't mean any harm.

He knew he couldn't bring Sherlock to care about people. He was probably right anyway, if you cared too much about every single person you saved or couldn't save, you would end up with manic depression. Nevertheless, he was John Watson. It was his part to remind Sherlock of the lives that were at stake.

"Does it really bother you that much?" It almost seemed like Sherlock was reading his mind.

"Well, - - yes. I think it wouldn't hurt to think about other people's feelings once in awhile. But I know that's you. And I would never want to change you. So, I'm fine with it. But only if you keep letting me remind you every now and then."

"That's what you're here for." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Is that right? I thought I was here to distract you if you get bored." John grinned at him and took his hand. Their backs were resting against the couch now, Sherlock's long legs spreading out in front of him, almost reaching the fire.

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. John's gaze wandering over Sherlock's face, finally coming to rest on his lips. Sherlock's hand cupped John's face and drew him closer until their lips touched.

The scene was almost a bit cheesy, kissing in front of a fireplace. Like one of those stupid romantic comedies. The only difference was that Hollywood probably wouldn't cast two men as their main characters.

Finally, John pulled away. "You really need to put some clothes on or I won't be able to control myself any longer!" Sherlock let out a laugh.

"And why would I want _that_?" But then he just sat there, smiling to himself, letting John's head rest against his shoulder.

He closed his eyes. Even though he looked and felt pretty calm, his mind was still running wild. Calculating every possible way he could catch the murderer, going over the evidence again to see if he had missed something, trying to make out who the next victim could possibly be.

All the while, he could still enjoy this moment with John. The warm feeling that spread in his body. The tingling he still got whenever John touched his skin.

"Sherlock?" John jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

John smiled and squeezed his hand.

"Where was your mind just now? I was asking you if you're hungry."

"Oh, no thanks. You?"

"No, I'm fine for now. Better save up the food for later."

"What _did_ you think about just now? Just out of curiosity…"

Sherlock sat there for a moment, overthinking the question in his head. Then he smiled at John and pulled his arm closer to him.

"Nothing, really. Just the case, you know."

John nodded. He looked a bit hurt. He knew he would probably never get Sherlock's full attention. And usually, he didn't mind at all. But Sherlock wasn't the only one with an ego. So subconsciously, he always felt a bit upset about it.

"Do you mind?" Sherlock noticed the severe look on his face.

"Do I mind what?"

"Me thinking about the case."

John sighed heavily and smiled, though it seemed a little forced.

"No – yes – I don't know! You see, I don't quite understand why you are thinking about it. Given that you are sitting here with your boyfriend in front of a beautiful fire… but I guess, since we're still on the case and were chasing the killer just a few hours ago, it's fine."

"I meant generally speaking."

John looked down at their intertwined hands.

"It would be nice to have your full attention sometimes."

Sherlock was moving away from him a little, which alarmed him. He didn't mean to offend him. But Sherlock had asked how he felt and he didn't want to lie.

"John, look… It's just how I am. I don't _want _to think about it but my brain does. I can't _stop_ thinking."

"I know, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, you did mean it like that. And I know that. And… it scares me."

John raised his eyebrows. Apparently, Sherlock had thought about this a lot. Suddenly, he was scared that he was going to pull away from him. That he would start hiding his feelings again. He just sat there, his eyes on the floor.

"I know that you accept me the way I am. And I love you for that. I never thought I could have someone like you. But I'm afraid that you're going to want more from me than I can give you. That you'll expect something else from this relationship and if I can't give you that … you'll end up hurt. Because I can't make you my priority."

"I think there's a mistake in your logic."

"Huh?" Sherlock looked up and saw John smiling at him. It was surprising. Countless times he could think that he knew how John was going to react, but he still surprised him every time.

"First of all, maybe this is all I want. Sherlock, we've been together for … about three months now? Did I complain to you in any way? Did I say that I wanted something different? We're still together, aren't we? - - What I'm trying to say is, don't think that I didn't know what I was getting into. I know you! If I wouldn't have wanted to be with you and _I do mean_ every part of you! Every annoying habit and the fighting and the subtle insults and the experiments and…"  
>"Okay, I get what you're saying!" Both chuckled.<p>

"Well, I wouldn't have said yes. I wouldn't have kissed you back that night. So you don't have to worry about that, okay?"

Sherlock nodded, blushing slightly.

"And… I also think you were wrong about the other thing."

"What other thing?"

"I think _I am_ your priority."

Sherlock grinned and rubbed John's hand.

"Oh, you're pretty confident about that, heh?"

"Yes, I am." John had the biggest smile on his face.

"Because you may think about the case now, but when we're in there", he motioned to the bed at the other side of the room, "I think you have other things on your mind." Sherlock laughed wholeheartedly. John paused, then he continued quite severely. "And I know you may not care about a lot of people. But you care about me, I see that in you every day." Sherlock leaned forward and softly put his lips on John. He loved how he could see so much more in him. With him, he wasn't the man without a heart. That stigma everyone put on him. He was a better man when he was with him.

"I love you." He whispered between kisses.

"Now, shall we open that bottle of Talisker?" John suggested with a smile.

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

I guess this is going to be fluffy fluff fluff for now^^ And I don't know what it is but I just like the idea of Sherly and Jawn playing teenage drinking games^^ (maybe prepare to read more of that xD) Hope you enjoy! :D

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><p>Sherlock and John were still sitting in front of the fireplace, now facing each other cross-legged.<p>

"19! Prepare to drink, Dr Watson"

"Is it the skull?"

"Nope. Only one left now." Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear.

"Huh. So it's not an animal, it's not a person, it's a thing. We have it at our flat. It's not your violin. It's nothing that requires electricity. And it annoys me? That doesn't make any sense. What thing at our flat would _annoy_ me?"

Sherlock giggled, swinging the Whiskey bottle in his hand.

"Come on. One more guess."

"Okay, is it… oh! Is it a body part in the fridge?" John was positive that he had to be right this time.

"No." Sherlock shook his head, enjoying his triumph.  
>"It's Cluedo."<p>

John's facial expression was priceless. His shoulders slouched down, one eyebrow raised in resentment. Sherlock started laughing uncontrollably.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me!"

"You know that you're useless at this game. At least, when you're playing against me!" Sherlock managed to bring out between giggles.

"Alright, give me the whiskey already." John took a long swig of the Talisker, flinching as the liquid ran down his throat.

"Jesus! I hate whiskey!"

"That's not what you said earlier."

"Well, maybe because you forced me to drink half of the bottle!"

Sherlock took the bottle from him and took a sip himself.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm just trying to catch up with you. It's totally unfair if you're drunk. Not that it hasn't been unfair before since you _are_ playing with _me_."

"You arrogant little twat!" John laughed and leaned forward to kiss him. They held on to each other's lips for a moment, Sherlock tasting the alcohol on John's breath, his lips still wet from the whiskey.

"Alright, one more round. Your turn, 20 questions, go!"

"Is it a thing?"

"Yes."

Now it was John's part to smile knowingly.

"Is it bigger than … let's say … a garbage can?"

"Eh… in length? No, well… depends on the garbage can."

"Could you make it any more imprecise? - - Is it something you might use every day?"

John nodded, Sherlock saw in his eyes that he was up to something.

"Especially in our area."

"Especially in our area? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock furrowed his brows, then he thought for a moment. His face lit up as an idea came to his mind.

"Do you use it outside?"

John nodded excitedly. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be happy about Sherlock winning, but he was too drunk to care by now.

"John…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and let out a small laugh. John bit down on his bottom lip, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Don't tell me it's Mycroft's umbrella!" John let out a squeaking sound that most certainly did not sound male.

"Right! Brilliant!" Sherlock was startled by John throwing his arms around him. He fell back over, John lying on top of him.

"You're a brilliant detective, Mr Holmes." John licked his lips, teasing Sherlock with his eyes to kiss him. "You're _my_ brilliant detective."

Sherlock closed the small gap between them and pressed his lips to John's.

They rolled around on the floor until they were in a comfortable position, their tongues exploring each other's mouth while doing so. Sherlock let his hands run up John's back, having untucked his shirt from his pants.

"I love the taste of whiskey in your mouth." He whispered, John smiling while Sherlock continued kissing down his neck.

"I thought you hate drinking."

"Oh yeah…. At least, the way it affects the body. But it doesn't mean I can't appreciate the taste of a 25-years-old whiskey."

John brought Sherlock's mouth back to his and kissed him softly, Sherlock's eyelids fluttering in delight. Then he sat back up, earning him a look of puppy dog eyes from the detective. But he didn't even notice it, drinking always made him cheerful and bursting with energy.

"Come on, let's do something! Oh… let's go outside!" His eyes went wide in excitement. But as he was trying to get up, Sherlock grabbed him by his sweater.

"No way!"

John pouted his lips which Sherlock quite enjoyed.

"Let's play another game then! How about… 'Would you rather'?"

Sherlock let his head fall back and moaned.

"What is it with you and these stupid teenage games? Didn't you go to enough parties in school?"

John nudged his chest lightly.

"Hey! I bet I went to more parties than you did! Come on! Would you rather… watch Anderson and Donovan have sex oooorr…. go on a date with Lestrade?"

Sherlock squinched. "John!"

"Answer!" He said demandingly.

Sherlock sighed. All the while he was watching how much John enjoyed himself. It was nice to see him so relaxed and quite uninhibited. After all, he was usually the one looking out for everything, always trying to be the adult. To see him lose himself in this stupid drinking games was quite fun. He liked him much better with that perky smile on his face. The red fire was still glowing behind him, the only light source in the small cabin. Sherlock decided that he could take the stupidity of these games … just for the sake of seeing John so cheerful.

He stroked his hand over the side of John's face and gave him a loving smile.

"Date with Lestrade." He said after a second.

"Reeally?" John looked a little disgusted.

"The other thing is waayy worse. Your turn! Would you rather… take aerobic lessons with Mycroft or… see Mrs Hudson naked – just for a glance!"

John weighed his options for a moment.

"For my and Mrs Hudson's sake, I'm gonna say aerobic with Mycroft."

Sherlock giggled.

"God! Just imagine Mycroft in those tight neon shorts that they were!"

John wrinkled his nose.

"You again, Sherly." John saw the look on Sherlock's face and smiled to himself. He loved to annoy him with that nickname.

"Would you rather… have sex with Irene Adler or… make out with Moriarty?"

Well, that was an interesting thought. John had tried to avoid thinking about Irene after the incidents of the scandal, especially because Sherlock had seemed to mourn after her in the first few months. Which, to be honest, made him kind of jealous.

"It makes it kind of hard to have sex with Irene Adler given that she is dead?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I forgot about that." At least in John's mind, Irene was indeed dead. But Sherlock had forgotten about John's cover story.

"Hooold on! No, she's not. How did you…? How did you know that?"

They had lost themselves in their lies.

"Whoops. Yeah… I know that you told me a lie, John."

"Oh okay, so… you're not upset about it?" John wasn't even surprised that Sherlock had seen through the lie.

Sherlock contemplated lying to him again.

"No. Because… because I know it's not true either. She's alive."

"_What_?" Again a slightly female sound escaped John's mouth.

"I never told you. And you can't tell anybody! But… I saved her life, sort of."

"Wow. That's… great, I guess." Irene Adler was alive? How was he supposed to feel about that? And that Sherlock had helped her, spend time with her… wait no! _Stop thinking like a jealous idiot!_

"Can I ask you something?"

John looked up to him, his thoughts still circling around the one question he had never asked Sherlock.

"Sure."

"Why didn't you tell me that she was dead?"

John exhaled heavily and shrugged.

"I don't know. I swear, I was going to tell you. But then I saw you sitting there and thought about how you acted after she was gone and… I guess I wanted to protect you."

"From what?"

"From… the loss? I don't know… you two… there was something going on between you two… I couldn't grasp what it was but… with her little games and… I thought maybe you … felt something for her?"

John didn't really know what to think himself. Now he was sitting there, his stomach growling from the alcohol and Sherlock just stared into space. How did their conversation get so serious so fast? Should he dare to ask his question?

"Are you implying that I had sexual feelings for Irene Adler?"

John nodded, his eyes full of self-consciousness.

Sherlock let out a weird sound that was between a laughter and a snort. But he still didn't raise his gaze from the floor.

"You think I was attracted to her? Like I am to you?"

"Yes, I do."

"Wow, that's… that wouldn't have crossed my mind in a million years." He said smiling. John was kind of relieved by that statement but he sensed something else coming. _What the hell! Just ask him now. There's not going to be a better time than now._

"Can I… Can I just ask you something then? Are you… attracted to other people? Like men ooor… women?" He stammered a bit, trying to get the words out. He didn't even know why this was bothering him so much. He knew Sherlock hadn't been in a relationship before, still…

"I might be."

"You _might_ be? What's that supposed to mean?"

"You see, sexual attraction is, of course, catalysed by a very primitive part of the brain. It's all hormones and stuff. You may know who your 'type' is because you have looked at people and thought 'Oh, she looks nice. I like her body' or whatever, but I don't do something like that. My brain's busy taking in the other information. So such thoughts get shoved away. Hence, I don't think as anyone as attractive or not attractive because there are no categories in my brain for that. I file people under their profession or… their habits. I never look at someone and go 'I would like to shag this fine lady!'" John laughed at Sherlock's weird impression of… who the hell that was supposed to be! Sherlock was just relieved that John wasn't totally freaking out by now. Normal people would have given him that look. That are-you-some-kind-of-alien?-what-are-you?-you're-different!-go-away-look.

"Why do you think it's different with me then?"

"I don't know… Maybe because we live together? After awhile there's no new information to get from you. If I see you all day long and know what you've been up to, my brain can access these other parts… Think about you in a different way."

"Oh God! Please stop. You're rationalizing our love away." Sherlock laughed.

"Of course, that doesn't mean that that would have happened with anybody! You're still…" Sherlock stopped himself.

John chuckled a bit, surprised at Sherlock speechless. He was actually able to control the words coming out of his mouth? That was new!

"Go on."

Sherlock waved him off. "No, no. Nothing!"

"Come on. I wanna know what you were going to say." John nudged him.

"You're… my other half."

John's face slowly lit up into a smile, he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock for a second. Then he drew back.

"Though that does sound a bit cheesy." Sherlock shook his head laughing and pulled John's lips to his.

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><p>This story is essentially: talking, kissing, talking, a bit of angsty talking, kissing again! haha Let's see what other topics when can come across :P Just trying to write away all the Reichenbach feels...^^<p>

All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Sadly, I've been a little busy the past few days so this chapter is quite short. But I've already planned 4 other chapters so there's coming more ;)

I hope you enjoy :)

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><p>The fire was down to a low glimmer by now. Just a nice red glow, the room temperature was getting colder. Sherlock and John were both lying on the bed, John had his head on Sherlock's stomach. Lazily he traced lines on Sherlock's arm. You could almost see their breaths in the cold of the night. But they didn't care. Their body heat was enough to keep them warm with nothing else except the sheets around their hips.<p>

"This is nice." John said with a smile, his eyes peeking up to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes were closed, a subtle smile on his face. He simply let out a satisfied moan.

How was it possible that he could only feel John's soft skin against his arm, his head rising on his belly whenever he inhaled? It was so simple. It didn't challenge him, it didn't keep his mind busy but it didn't bore him either. He was almost a little shocked as he realized that he hadn't been thinking about the case in at least… since they had gone over to the bed. Simultaneously he cursed himself for thinking about that. Of course, when you think about _not_ thinking about something, you immediately start to think about it again.

But tonight was different. Since they had entered this cabin, there suddenly seemed to be some kind of charm around them. Like everything was just about them right now. Time and other people and the world became meaningless, such incomprehensible concepts. Maybe it was these woods, maybe the snow. Somehow things had changed or the way they looked at them. Stripped of from reality, hidden from civilization, everything – even playing stupid games – seemed more pure. Like the rest of their lives had been a search for this. Simplicity. Truth.

Sherlock let his hand run through John's hair, John closing his eyes when he sensed his touch, stretching his head back as if to say _Don't pull away again! Be with me!_

Sherlock smirked at this sight. John was like a cat bunting his head against his hand. It was scary how much his pulse rate went up just by touching John or being touched by him. The things he could do to him. His gaze went up to the ceiling remembering what they had just enjoyed. Memories flipped through his head like photographs. John's hands around his waist. John's tongue on his collarbone. His lips basically everywhere. John's eyes staring into him like they were looking into his soul.

Sometimes they were so close he thought John actually _was_ looking into his soul, they merged together into one being. John-and-Sherlock.

Other times it was harder for him to explain what he was feeling or rather what he wasn't feeling. Were Mycroft and him right? Was caring not an advantage?

How could it be? In all those years he hadn't been quite as happy as now. He was fulfilled by his work. He was occupied. Or was he just occupied by his work without true satisfaction? Doing what he did meant living like a drug addict. Nothing could set him off like a new interesting crime. But the drug only lasts a few hours, if you're lucky a few days. When the sudden excitement was over, and it was always over much too quick. He needed more. And every time he needed just a little more to satisfy him. The excitement didn't hold on for long, these mood swings, feeling sooo unbelievably bored he felt like he had to scratch his brains out.

He still had these feelings now but … not as often and not as deep. The hormones of love rushing over him came more often and steady as the sudden exhilaration of a crime. They were something to depend on.

Was it that simple? Just a few silly molecules that he needed to keep him in balance. And all that from him? He who made his heart rate go up, his blood pressure increase – he who made him feel so alive and … happy!

He would never be able to enjoy any of this without him. Only being with him meant that he could see the world differently. Brighter.

"I love you." He whispered, John turned around, his arm resting on Sherlock's bare chest. His face lit up with a smile.

"I love you, too."

"Do you think it will end someday?"

John seemed a little confused by that. But he still kept his smile like he was reassuring him he was there. And he always would be.

Sherlock tried to keep these sad emotions swelling up in him inside. All this time being alone. It protected him. In some way from pain, but also from happiness. _You just can't go back now. It will never be the same again. It doesn't even matter if you're friends or lovers. You care about him! You can deny it and try to lock it away in your brain but you know when the hours get longer and the thoughts get deeper and you have nothing else to do, you'll always think of him - and it's going to hurt. Be proud of yourself. Be proud that you're not numb anymore. It's not a chemical defect, it's what makes us human. _

_Do no try to be a god. You're just a man. A Prometheus, with every fault and flaw that the whole of humanity has kept since the beginning of creation. Immerse in it. _

"Why would you think that, Sherlock?"

He opened his eyes again, not noticing a tear running down his face.

"It's the way it goes, isn't it?"

John shifted a bit in bed. He furrowed his brows. Maybe he had destroyed the moment now. But what meaning did this have if he wasn't able to say something like that? Articulate his fear.

"You can't do this."

"I can't do what?"

"You can't use the 'science of deduction'. It doesn't work. You can't apply it to everything."

"Why not?" Sherlock looked a bit like a child that had his favourite toy taken away.

"When you deduce you make a premise about something. For instance, you see a man with bread crumbs on his collar. That's the first premise. Then you already have your general principle from your experiments, so you have your other premise, like: bread crumbs means he has eaten bread, therefore you deduce that he has eaten bread."

"You don't have to explain to me how I work, John…"

"Just bear with me for a second! But it doesn't work with us. There is no premise that every relationship will fail. Sure, we are in a relationship. But there's no conclusion. You can't deduce what's going to happen with us. And I think that's what you were trying to do… and it's wrong."

"Huh." Sherlock sat there for a moment, thinking everything over.

"No relationship is the same. And especially not ours." John smiled.

"As much as I hate to admit it, I guess you're right." Sherlock grinned at him and put his arms around John, caressing his back. Their lips moved slowly on each other.

John moaned into Sherlock's mouth as he moved his hands to his bum, squeezing it slightly.

God, how he loved Sherlock's hands! And lips and tongue and… basically everything. He was perfectly fine with him taking the lead, just enjoying everything immensely. After all, it was his role. The sidekick. _Well, I'm more than that _he thought nibbling on Sherlock's bottom lip. _My little genius. _

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

John slowly opened his eyes, lying on his belly. He felt the warmth of Sherlock's arm that was draped over him. It was like he was making sure he was still there and he wasn't going anywhere. The sheet was only covering him below his waist so John watched his chest rise and fall from his slow breathing. He didn't know where the comparison came from but his mind immediately thought of Snow White. John chuckled quietly, trying not to wake Sherlock. Dark curls as black as ebony, pale skin as white as snow.

It didn't really get light outside, the snow storm was still covering everything up, blocking the sunlight. They had to get out off here in a few days, hopefully they could get to their car, maybe the snow ruts had been frozen over by now. Maybe even Mycroft was looking for them. He knew that they had been following the killer. Would he send out someone to search for them? Ever since John and Sherlock had got together he teased them at every opportunity. He probably thought they were on some kind of romantic honeymoon. _Jesus, now you're thinking of marriage? _John rubbed his hand over his eyes. His throat was a little sore, getting the flu now was probably not a good idea.

Sherlock shifted around til he was lying on his stomach, facing John. But his eyes were still closed. He didn't sleep much but when he did he slept like a baby.

John couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself, having this gorgeous man lying next to him. _What a nice piece of ass I got for myself! _

He giggled to himself. But of course, it wasn't just that. He didn't even dare think about what Sherlock meant to him. How was it possible that he, a traumatized ex-army doctor had tamed the world's only consulting detective? The man who - supposedly - had no heart. He didn't even understand how people could think something like that about Sherlock. They just didn't see him. The real him. How he acted around him … and Mrs Hudson. He did have so much love to give, having stored it away all his life. He just didn't show it the way normal people did. You had to look for it. _I guess most people don't want to make such effort. _But loving someone doesn't mean that you have it easy. You can love someone and still don't like them sometimes. Bloody hell, there were times John reeeaally didn't like Sherlock. But at the end of the day, when they were lying in bed or were in some part of town in a dark alley because they were being chased by a psychopath – again… Sherlock made him happy! It was as simple as that. And he loved every annoying part of him just as much as the good ones. Over time he had become… the 'Sherlock Holmes' of the behaviour of Sherlock Holmes so to speak. Every look over his shoulder when they were running down a street, every time he took his hand. He just noticed every small thing. These were the important things, they meant something. Not his bluntly rambling of insults. John knew Sherlock didn't mean any of that. Well, okay, maybe he did – but he often didn't realize someone would be hurt by his words.

After two months in the relationship, John had gotten home from a trip to his folks. He was exhausted and just wanted a nice cup of tea and go to bed. Sherlock hadn't said anything when he got home, he just gave him a peck on the cheek, handed him his tea mug and went to bed. When John went into the kitchen he had found a second fridge. Just for the body parts. Turns out, Sherlock Holmes wasn't such a show-off after all.

John smiled and reached out his hand. He gently stroked Sherlock's cheek, scooting closer to him. As his body touched Sherlock's he noticed how cold it really was in the cabin. The fire was out, it was probably near freezing point.

"Wake up!" He whispered into Sherlock's ear, kissing it afterwards.

"What do you want?" Sherlock grumbled.

"It's cold!"

"What am I supposed to do about that?"

Sherlock lifted himself up and opened his drowsy eyes.

"Make a fire!" John leaned forward and just very slow and gentle, put his lips on Sherlock's. They both still had a bit of alcohol on their breaths, their lips chapped from the cold of yesterday. John let his hand run from the detective's neck up into his hair, drawing him closer til the kiss became more passionate. Their tongues moving around each other, Sherlock had to grip the bed to keep him steady. Soon their chests were pressed against each other, arms moving around, stroking their bare backs. This kiss on a cold morning, the day not fully in place. They were holding on to the last night. Trying to keep the magic… the intimacy and all the love confessions. But they didn't have to, even in gray daylight everything was still as it was. They were still them. John-and-Sherlock. Nothing could rob them of this beautiful moment. Only they had the right to end this heated kiss.

Sherlock fell back into the pillows and licked his lips, smiling, before he abruptly sat up.

"Fine!" He gave in. "But I need to pee first."

"Go make some yellow snow." John laughed while Sherlock put his pants on, ruffling John's hair, pushing him back into the pillows before he went out.

A few minutes later, the door banged against the wall as Sherlock made his entry, jolting John out of his doze.

"It smells like sex in here." John laughed.

"Make fire! NOW!" He demanded in a Neanderthal-like fashion. "And then come back to bed, you owe me something!"

Sherlock turned around and raised his eyebrows at John's forthright ways.

"Oh, I do?"

"Oh, yes. You took advantage of me because I was drunk last night."

Sherlock laughed wholeheartedly.

"I took advantage of you? Don't you remember what happened?"

"Err… no! And I don't care. Just get back here!"

Sherlock lit a match and threw it onto the wood that he had put in the fireplace. Then he quickly jumped back into the bed, cat-like and full of excitement.

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><p>John tumbled through the door, balancing a giant pile of wood on his arms.<p>

"Brrr… It's freezing."

Sherlock looked up from his finding, his brows furrowed.

"You look like you had a snow fight with yourself."

John chuckled and dropped the wood on the floor next to the fireplace with a loud thud. Fortunately, there had been chopped wood next to the cabin.

"I was fighting against the blizzard." He ruffled his hair, his jacket all covered in white, sprinkling snow all over the floor.

"What do you have there?"

Sherlock held up his finding, a nerved expression on his face. John let out a loud laugh as he examined what Sherlock had found.

It was a deerstalker.

"Where did you find that?"

"In a cabinet in the kitchen. I seriously think this hat is following me! It's starting to freak me out a little."

John wiped a tear out of his eye from laughing. Sherlock was most definitely not amused.

"Put it on!" John handed him the hat but Sherlock immediately threw it over to the couch like it had some kind of curse on it. It landed neatly on top of the cushions.

"This hat is going to be the end of me! I tell you! I rue the day that I laid hands on it! It will follow me to my grave!"

John shook his head and sat down next to him.

"Don't be so melodramatic."

"John, can you do me one favour?"

"Sure."

"Can you please make sure that I'm not buried in this hat!"

John cracked up again, throwing down a deck of cards lying beside him.

"What's this?"

"Oh yeah, I also found this pack of cards! You wanna play?"

"Do you even know how to play any card games?"

"No."

John put a hand on his shoulder, stroking Sherlock's face with his thumb. He looked at him like he was a little child, nevertheless smiling. Sherlock couldn't possibly know what was going through John's head now. It was amazing how they could communicate so well, be in complete harmony and all the while have such a great mismatch in thought-process. John tending the social, interpersonal aspects as well as emotional reactions; Sherlock relying mostly upon logic, completely oblivious to the subtle ways of human communication.

"I have an idea. You see your favourite hat there?"

Sherlock grumbled, raising an eyebrow.

"How about we try to throw as many cards as we can into the hat and whenever one of us gets a hit, the person gets to ask the other one a question which he has to answer truthfully."

"Any question?"

John nodded.

"The game is on, Dr Watson." Sherlock sat up on the bed, preparing to throw.

John enjoyed how easily he could trick Sherlock into talking about personal things and he didn't even notice. As long as there was a competition, Sherlock Holmes would be there. And John got what he wanted, he could make Sherlock talk about anything he liked! Merely because being in a relationship with Sherlock didn't mean that he told him everything. John knew how to read him by now, but some things even _he_ couldn't decipher from his behaviour yet.

Alternating, they began to throw cards into the deerstalker lying on top of the couch.

"YES!" Sherlock exclaimed, finally getting lucky to get a hit.

"Alright, let's see… what freaks you out?"

John furrowed his brows, thinking the question over in his head.

"What freaks me out?" Sherlock nodded. "Well, a lot of things! Body parts in the fridge… but I guess you got rid of that problem." He winked at Sherlock. "When Mrs Hudson talks about her dates with this guy… aaaand…"

"Come on, there has to be something better than that!"

John sighed and shifted on the bed.

"If I'm really honest… well… there is something else. It's about you."

Sherlock didn't change his expression. He just crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Sometimes your mind goes to that weird place. It's mostly when you're on a case and you have to think a lot. You just get really quiet, sometimes you leave the room without a word. And you always have this … I don't know… dark expression on your face. Completely engrossed in thought… No one speaks to you when you're in that mood… because you don't let them. _If _someone dares to address you, you bark back at them. And I don't really know what to say… or think. I don't know what's going on in your head when you are like that. I can't begin to imagine what your thoughts resolve around. The dark places… And it scares me. Because even I can't reach you when you're in that place. You completely withdraw. And I realize that you must be so alone. In there." He motioned to Sherlock's head. It was the first time John looked up since he began speaking.

"I want to help you but I can't. It just… it really disturbs me."

Sherlock swallowed a lump in his throat. He didn't know what to say. It wasn't hard for him to read John's expression now. He looked really concerned. For him! He was soo worried about him, it was something that Sherlock had never experienced. How could he be so selfless? The way it made him feel, John trying to understand how he felt… He never thought it could have such an effect. Even just _trying_ to know what Sherlock was bothering, was much more than he could imagine…. than he himself would have done.

In the end, he just decided to take his hand and kiss him on the forehead. He didn't know how he could express what he was feeling. He loved John for everything he had just said, but even he himself didn't know how to keep him out of that mood.

"I love you." He whispered, "I'm sorry. I don't know what to tell you. I can't tell you that I will never be in that place again. I can't tell you how you could help me. I don't know myself." He paused. "Do you remember the last time I was like that?"

John nodded, a severe expression on his face.

"Yes. The night you went to that pool. Without telling me."

"I'm sorry." Sherlock cut him off.

"No… it's just… promise me you won't do anything like that again. Don't go off on your own again, it's stupid."

Sherlock nodded a few times, his lip twitching up into a smile. But he still knew that he probably wouldn't be able to keep this promise. As much as he loved John, he would always try to handle these things alone. But maybe that was just it. He loved him so much, he didn't want him to be in danger.

"I know you're lying."

Sherlock was startled, John's piercing look on him.

"I'm not… I'm…" He tried to deny it but John just shook his head. Sherlock heaved a long sigh. "Fine. But I don't want you to be in danger, okay? I think it's better if I handle some things on my own, so you don't get into trouble!"

"Oh and how did that turn out the last time, Sherlock?" John raised his voice.

"But don't you understand? Moriarty wants that! He knows that I care about you!" "Thank-you-very-much but I can protect myself!"

John had stood up by now, pacing up and down. Sherlock just couldn't believe it. John just didn't understand. He ran his hand over his eyes, his breathing unsteady.

"John, I know that! Okay? But _I'm_ the problem here! He wants to harm _me _and the best way to do that… well, I don't care about my life very much."

"I got the hang of that pretty quickly, yeah."

"But I care about yours…"

John stopped and turned around, astonished by Sherlock's soft tone.

"I'm weak when you're there. And he knows that! I can't focus, I can't think straight! It's hard if I feel like I have to look over my shoulder to make sure if you're still there, if you're okay… It distracts me. And that's just the thing I'm worried about! If I don't … if I'm not able to concentrate I can't possibly go up against him." His gaze was turned to the floor. John sat down beside him.

"It bothers you that you care at all, doesn't it?" He whispered.

Sherlock jerked his head up, a confused look on his face. Did John still think something like that? Maybe it was his fault. He always seemed to get it wrong. The words… they just didn't come out like they normally would. All driven by emotions, he couldn't control himself…

"No, it _absolutely_ doesn't. - - Not anymore."

John's face turned into a weak smile. He looked quite relieved. Had he really believed that?

"Why do you still think that? After all the things we said… It doesn't matter. Believe me now, okay?"

John simply nodded, closing his eyes. He raised Sherlock's hand to his lips and placed a kiss upon it, with the other hand he threw a card into the hat.

"Wow! How did you do that?"

John smiled, still a sad expression in his eyes.

"The discussion is not over yet. But first things first: your turn! Why do you seem so different?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"Different?"

"Yeah… You seem to … I don't know… try to hold back your craziness so to speak… at least sometimes. You don't shoot guns in the house. You don't even annoy me about cigarettes all day!"

Sherlock rubbed his temple, trying to make sense of the question. Then he realized what John was really asking about.

"Are you afraid that I've changed?"

John let out a laugh and nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, I am! Because the great Sherlock Holmes never changes! He's the perfect human being! The crown of creation! - - What happened?"

And yet again Sherlock discovered another subject on which they had both ooh soo different views. It was like a constant journey through their minds. The way he saw himself and the way John made him out to be.

"Don't think something like that about me!"

"I'm not, you arrogant son of a bitch!" John laughed and shook his head. "It's the way _you_ see yourself!" Sherlock looked at him in surprise.

"I don't see myself like that! Don't you remember what we just talked about! I'm not perfect! And I don't aspire to be! That would be ridiculous. - - Look, I know that I can be very hard to live with. I'm trying to be better…"

John gasped and slapped his hand over his mouth in shock, the other pointing at the detective.

"Oh my god!"

Sherlock looked around in surprise.

"What? What's happening?"

John's hand slipped down, revealing a big smile. Was it really possible? Sherlock Holmes could still surprise him.

"You did it for me! You tried to be normal for me!" He started chuckling uncontrollably, tears forming in his eyes. Sherlock still didn't understand what was going on! Of course he had tried to change for him! For whom else but for John would he do something like that?

"All this time I thought there was something wrong or something like that!" John cupped Sherlock's face and started kissing him. They fell back onto the bed. John eagerly unbuttoning his shirt, grabbing at his belt.

"What about our argument?" Sherlock managed to bring out between kisses.

"Oh, shut up!" John's hands were everywhere. Soon he wouldn't be able to think straight anyway.

Suddenly, he stopped. He was kneeling over his crotch, holding his face in his hands. Sherlock's lips were still formed in a kissing manner.

"You never really answered my question…"

Sherlock was interrupted before he could even say one word.

"So… I've got another one for you! - - What turns you on?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, a smug smile on his face. He didn't even have to think about that that long.

"You know when you're standing over a dead body at a crime scene…"

John looked at him a little disgusted causing a deep chuckle from Sherlock.

"No! Not what you think! That's gross! The way you examine it… You're so confident, the way you move around the body with such competence…"

"You like it when I talk medical, don't you?" John grinned at him and watched Sherlock sitting there in a state of awe, obviously imagining a scene where John had inspected a cause of death.

"Well… then… rupture of myocardium… coronary artery thrombosis…" He started listing random medical terms until Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck, drawing him to his lips. Everybody needs a doctor sometimes, and especially Sherlock Holmes.

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	6. Chapter 6

For all of those who are wondering, there will NOT be any Reichenbach in this story! I repeat: this is cheesy fluff and no fall can stop that xD

But seriously, the story _is_ placed before The Fall but I'm seeing it as "changing history". Since they became a couple before the Fall, it never would have happened! So no fear, my dear readers ;)

I thank all of you for reviews/alerts/favourites :D I love you :-X

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><p>John was in his underwear, sitting on the bed, a magazine in his hands. You couldn't tell much from his facial expression. But he was definitely confused. Sherlock came into the cabin, two glasses with snow in his hands so they would have something to drink later. After taking off his coat, he quickly stripped off his shirt as well, hoping for a reaction from John. He was sitting there half naked after all. But nothing happened.<p>

"What are you reading?"

Sherlock put his chin on John's shoulder, furrowing his brows after he saw the content of the magazine.

"Looking at naked women, are we?"

John threw the magazine in the air like it was on fire, startling Sherlock. He looked pretty caught. But there wasn't anything wrong with what he was doing, was there? Why did everything have to be so complicated? The better question would have been: why did he make everything so complicated!

"What? No! Why would you think that?" He tried to defend himself which was of course pointless, seeing that Sherlock did just catch him looking at a pretty old Playboy.

"I've just never seen a man stare so hard on a piece of paper like you just did that didn't have naked women on it." He laughed, picking up the magazine. He looked quite unimpressed by the whole thing. John's mouth hung open. What was he even supposed to say?

"Where did you find that anyway?"

"I was looking for my belt!" John nearly yelled at him, earning a surprised look on Sherlock's face. He raised an eyebrow.

"Aaand?"

"Well, you threw it under the bed earlier with all your … anyway! It was lying there! Under the bed!"

Sherlock nodded, sitting down on the bed beside him. Suddenly, John was thirteen years old again, having _that_ conversation with his mother. Again. But now with his _boy_friend! His BOYfriend! And it made him really uncomfortable that Sherlock was flipping through the magazine now.

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock didn't even turn his head. "What does it look like, John?"

John stammered. "Errr…" There were just too many questions in his head, and all of the sudden they were bursting forward! The army of things he didn't dare to ask Sherlock now conquering his brain. "Have you…? Are you…? Did you…?"

Sherlock turned his head to him and raised his eyebrows in question. Somehow he hadn't realized yet that John was making an idiot out of himself.

"What?"

John squeezed his right eye shut, his face frozen in an ashamed flinch.

"What the hell is going on with your face?" Sherlock chuckled, putting his hand on John's bare thigh. That didn't make it better of course. John jumped a little at his touch. "Jesus, what's wrong? - - Is it about this?" Sherlock held up the magazine but John just shrugged his shoulders.

"You're kidding, right? - - John, I don't care about this stuff. I literally don't care for myself and I don't care what you do!"

John tried to decipher what Sherlock meant by that. He didn't look at these things? Had he _never_ looked at these things? He didn't care? Well, of course he didn't care. Was it just because of the women? No! It was like Sherlock didn't have _any_ sexual experiences before he had come along.

"What … _are_ you?"

Sherlock let out a laugh. "Are you trying to label me?"

John blinked uncontrollably, shifting on the bed.

"No, I'm … Yes, I sort of was."

"And why are you doing that?"

John put his face in his hands. "I don't know. I'm confused."

Of course, the time of John being confused about _his_ sexuality was long over. He had had the time to think about that in the last three months! All the while he simply forgot thinking about what this meant for Sherlock. Okay, he had to be honest to himself. He didn't _forget_, he just tried not to think about it. Because, face it! He was a doctor in the _army _and if not that made him predestined to be prude, what else would? He simply didn't like to talk about that stuff. Sure, it was a different case between the sheets. Sherlock whispering his name, groaning in pleasure, somehow it let him lose all these inhibitions. But in bright daylight… it was something else.

"Look..." Sherlock realized that John wouldn't bring out another word, he had to start the conversation. And this conversation was long overdue. They needed to have it, even though John looked like he would be pretty pleased to move on and forget about what just happened. And of course Sherlock already knew what his fuss was about. He could have interrupted him after the first few syllables. But he had let him have this, because he knew John didn't like being cut-off. He didn't like being told what he was feeling, being deduced, he needed to express it in his own words.

So Sherlock bit his tongue because John needed to have his rants and explaining of the obvious. Sherlock had learned that in the past three months, sometimes the hard way. He did it to make him see that he saw John as an equal. And he really did. John Watson was probably the only person to ever earn that medal. Maybe he wasn't a genius like him, but he had potential. He was his student so to speak. Even so, there were times the roles were reversed – which Sherlock didn't realize mostly. It probably was the only way it could be like that, Sherlock being taught meant him being oblivious to the lesson being held.

But now it was the time for Sherlock to tell him what was going on in his head because, frankly, John didn't know himself. And as freakish as Sherlock semi-mind-reading skills were sometimes, they did come in handy.

Sherlock always saw when he was upset or angry or simply excited. All these women always complaining about their boyfriends not noticing their new haircuts, Sherlock even noticed when John was shaving with a different razor blade! Of course, that didn't mean that he would say something about it. Especially when it came to feelings! He was so heavy-handed, he just didn't know _what_ to say most of the times.

"I already told you how I feel about my attraction towards others. It simply isn't there. I guess I used to be an asexual. No, I guess I thought I was asexual. At least, I wanted to be. Because I despised everything that had to do with these chemicals clouding my brain. Attraction, love, sex. It got in the way. I seldom did what other teenage boys my age did. Including 'discovering my sexuality' as you may call it. Why would I bother? It never mattered… until you came along."

John was frozen. He took a deep breath and saw the sweet smile on Sherlock's face.

"All those years I missed something and I didn't even know it. You showed me! You showed me the things I observed but never really _saw._ You gave me another reason. For this!" He motioned all around the room. "Here I was thinking I was the most observant person in the whole wide world. Thinking I was the only one who could see between all the rubbish and find the truth. And yet, _you_ were the one who opened my eyes. You showed me this different… dimension. And it made me find… for want of a better word, meaning. I'm not talking about the purpose of my life because it's too shallow. It's just an empty phrase that is used way too often. You're not the man of my dreams. Because I couldn't have dreamed, I couldn't have wished for something this amazing… this perfect in a million years."

Sherlock had to stop a moment to catch his breath. Somehow he had managed to forget breathing. That, just that showed so perfectly what John did to him. Not just losing ground but being caught again. John was the oxygen in his lungs.

He looked up and saw a tear running down his face, a soft smile on his lips.

John thought his heart was going to explode. He would get an aneurysm right here in this goddamn – no, wonderful! amazing! sensational cabin! He reached out and pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace but not before he had placed a soft kiss upon his lips.

John's head resting on the headboard of the bed, Sherlock's ear pressed against his chest to listen to his heartbeat. They just lay there for a while, eyes closed.

"What do you think you are?" Sherlock mumbled, breathing in the scent of John.

"What? You mean…?"

"Yeah."

"I like to think of me as a Sherlock-sexual."

They both chuckled.

So they had had the conversation. But really, did they say anything? Did Sherlock tell John he was gay? Did John tell Sherlock he was probably bisexual? No. It probably wasn't even true. Because it simply didn't matter. They loved each other with all of their hearts and minds and bodies. That's all you have to keep in mind. Who would John Watson and Sherlock Holmes – the world's most famous detective duo – be if they let themselves be pushed in a corner. They wouldn't let themselves be pigeon-holed. They're not ordinary. (But really, who is?) Sherlock's words were much more important than any label.

Don't focus on that, focus on the love.

"What do you think will be in twenty years?" John softly stroked Sherlock's bare arm. He still worried. He just couldn't stop. It was Sherlock Holmes who was his boyfriend after all. "Will there be an 'us'?"

Sherlock sat up and looked John in the eye, totally baffled.

"Of course, why wouldn't there be?"

He said it with such confidence. Like there was no point to even questioning that.

"Will you keep your promise?"

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

I really wanted to update the story earlier but I just didn't have the time :-/ and now I'm coming down with a cold which is draining all my energy so that's not so fun to write with^^ Anyway, here is the new chapter! Probably only about two left now :(

I hope you enjoy! :)

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><p>Hurt. Aching. Kill Myself. He will get you. You don't get it. Game. I won't get old. I never expected this. The moment. It is never summer. Be with you.<p>

You will leave a mark.

Finally.

Deal? Deal? I'm going. You. Stay.

The second night was the exact opposite of the first. John had all those words echoing in his fever ridden head. He couldn't get them out. It was awful that they had to part like this. But his cold had gotten worse, his temperature kept rising and by early morning the cold sweat of the fever stood upon his forehead.

Sherlock had gone to the car, Harry supposedly always carried a bag of medicine in her glove compartment. If they couldn't get help at least he could take that.

Now John was lying in bed, turning every minute. His whole body seemed hostile. He couldn't even get a comfortable position to lie in.

But maybe it wasn't just that. His head was still spinning from their argument. They couldn't even finish it. After John had almost passed out while he was wildly gesturing, pacing up and down the cabin, Sherlock had insisted he would go. John didn't like this. The blizzard was almost gone, but it was still snowing.

Why hadn't they just made up? At least until Sherlock would be back. But of course, that wasn't Sherlock. He couldn't fake feelings. Now John had to lay here, all these harsh words swirling in his head and he couldn't do anything. Of course Sherlock would be back. But he didn't like this fight being unresolved. It felt like they were running away from something. This wasn't just any fight. This could mean life or death. Why did Sherlock have to be so stubborn? Sure, John saw his point. But that didn't mean he agreed with it. Why didn't he exactly? Admittedly, his motives were completely selfish. But there was nothing wrong with that this time. If being selfish meant keeping Sherlock alive he sure as hell would stick to it.

His body was alternating between fever and chills now.

He thought back, it was probably a few weeks ago. He had taken a nice hot bath. Oh how good that warmth would feel right now. The water wrapping around your body. Head back, eyes closed. His arms slowly floating on the water surface. It felt like gravity had given out. Almost like a dead body popping up in a lake.

He heard Sherlock walk by the door. Then a few steps again, his head popped into the bathroom. With one raised eyebrow he looked at his doctor who was completely covered in bubbles. John didn't open his eyes, still a satisfied smile on his lips.

"Well, that's just… gay."

He looked up to Sherlock who was standing in front of him, chuckling, arms crossed over his chest.

"Since when do you take baths?"

John wouldn't let anyone ruin his peace.

"Since London is cold as fuck and we were running around in the rain all day."

"That would imply that you take a bath every day." Sherlock had a point.

"Oh, piss off!" John said jokingly.

For a moment he could lay there in perfect silence. Then he heard fabric being pulled off. His face went into a frown as he opened his eyes. Sherlock had begun unbuttoning his shirt.

"What do you think you're doing?"

His trousers landed on the floor.

"No way! You are not getting in here. It is waaay too small with all your… legs and stuff!"

But when Sherlock has set his mind to something, well you know the drill.

John smiled giddily as he reminisced, the sheets around him wet from sweat. Best sex ever.

John turned around again, lying on his side now.

He remembered that one time he had woken up alone in bed (which of course wasn't unusual at all). Sherlock had been experimenting all night. It wasn't the first all-nighter he had pulled that week. John was concerned, he always was. And it exhausted him as well. It felt like he had to be Sherlock's body, aching for water, food and sleep because Sherlock himself wouldn't acknowledge feeling anything like that. It would make him seem weak.

_I'm not perfect. And I don't aspire to be! –_ he had said. Oh what a load of crap! He knew damn well how much Sherlock wanted to be this man. This man who wasn't even a man anymore. More than a man. It was like he was trying to make up for something. Why had he chosen to be a detective in the first place? It wasn't just the puzzles.

That morning John had gone to the bathroom like it was a normal day. They already moved around the flat like they were married. Sherlock had his space, John would run errands. He had heard Sherlock move around in the kitchen, quietly cursing to himself. The experiments probably hadn't brought the results he was hoping for. John saw him picking up petri dishes in his mind. It was like a film running through his head even though Sherlock was just a few feet away and he could have just stepped out of the bathroom and slung his arms around him. But he didn't need to reassure himself that he was there. So John started shaving.

A dark figure appeared in the door frame and leaned against it, his head resting on the old wood and a loving smile on his lips. His lover had woken up. His head was yanked out of the frustration of the pointlessly spent night. He could only think good thoughts now.

"Morning my love." The words wear barely audible, only a whisper. They weren't meant for anybody else. John ran the blade up and down his throat. Sherlock smirked at the endearment. He liked it when John called him that.

"I really would have appreciated it if you had joined me last night. I sleep a lot better when you're lying beside me."

Sherlock sighed. In earlier times he would have hated the regret that run through him at John's words. But who the hell cared! He liked watching John sleep. Of course John always thought Sherlock was sleeping himself. That was probably the reason he slept better with him in their bed. That troubled little head of his.

"I am all yours tonight. This experiment is a dead end anyway." He said yawning. Sherlock slid down the door frame and rested his arms on his knees, still looking up at his beloved. He saw John giving him a worried look as he looked closely into his face for the first time, noticing the rings under his eyes. He also looked a lot paler than normally.

"Stop it." He murmured in his deep baritone, closing his eyes.

"What?" John said defensively, wiping his face with a towel.

"I know what you were going to say. Well, I usually know that anyway. But this time I won't let you finish. Just let me say… I appreciate it. - - I appreciate you."

John went over to him and stood close before him, Sherlock's head moving up to look into his eyes. They both smiled at each other. This smile that carried across everything they meant to each other. So much more than the muscles working in their heads. It seemed like the world stood still around them. The air buzzing with affection, yet not sexually. _I'm here and you're here and it will always and always and forever be like this._

John ran his hand through Sherlock's hair, Sherlock closing his eyes and leaning back into his touch. He had finally found peace after the dreadful night, just here – his head in John's hand. He didn't need anything else. His breathing was slow, his nostrils flaring every time John stroked his head, the dark curls running through his fingers. How was it possible that his mind went blank in just this moment? Just this – nothing more. It wasn't sex, it wasn't even a kiss, just his gentle touch and the certainty that it was only John who could make him feel this way, John who would never go away.

John crouched down beside him and Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around him without even opening his eyes. He needed him closer. Their legs were tangled, foreheads pressed against each other, John's hand in the back of his neck. He wanted him to be so close that they would somehow morph into one being. The whole point of his life seemed to rely on that. He didn't know how he would live without him anymore. Just the basics of surviving were a mystery to him, John would fill that part. They would make this perfect unit, fitting together like ying and yang.

Their warm breaths hovered between them, mouths only inches apart. Finally, after the moment that was eternity their lips came crashing together like tides. A warm summer day at the beach.

John hadn't moved for a while now. A tear escaped his left eye, landing on the pillow.

His mind went back again to another moment shared between the sheets. It was pretty early in their relationship. Late at night, Sherlock had stumbled through the flat coming home from a case. He had thrown open the door to John's room, waking him up in shock. He didn't wait for him to do more than open his eyes. Just seconds after, he had knelt on the bed beside him, grabbing eagerly at John's head and drawing him into a sloppy kiss with a lot of tongue.

"Where the hell have you been?" John managed to get out between Sherlock's groping and licking. Sherlock hadn't told him where he was going, he hadn't told him what the case was he was working on. He just went out into the night without a word – had been in this weird state of mind all day. Now that he was back, John was mad at him. Sherlock didn't understand anything. He needed him to stop. He needed to tell him how this worked.

Sherlock was pulling off his coat, his shirt soon following. He had already unbuttoned John's pyjama top, going for his trousers now.

"Sherlock, stop!" John tried to grab his hands but they were moving around too quickly. They ran all over his body, teasing him, pinching him. He had to focus his mind to remember that he wasn't supposed to be turned on by all of this.

"Sherlock, stop now!" He said more forcefully this time. Sherlock abruptly stopped and stared into his eyes. Not angry, he looked… almost a little frightened, confused, apologetic. He swung his leg around, having knelt over John's crotch. Then he just sat on the bed for a moment. John didn't dare to say anything. He was a little scared by his behaviour. It seemed like he had been driven by some weird outer force.

Then he disappeared again. But this time, John went after him.

He followed him around town, through small back alleys and larger streets, he even had to jump over a few fences. Sherlock didn't acknowledge private property. He had learnt that the hard way.

Finally, Sherlock came to rest at a small church. He sat down on the big stone stairs in front of it and lit a cigarette. John almost went out of his cover right then – his impulse wanting to yank that cigarette right out of Sherlock's mouth. But he contained himself and waited in the shadows, watching Sherlock.

He just sat there, in obvious unease. His legs moving around constantly, he could even see the hand holding his cigarette shaking slightly. He looked up at the sky, blowing smoke out of his mouth and nose.

This picture seemed so wrong and yet so captivating. The stone figures on the side of the church seemed to mock Sherlock, laughing down at him. Like he wasn't able to pass through the door of the church, forever damned to sit there in discomfort. Was he looking for redemption? Of course, John knew that Sherlock Holmes was no man of God. He would laugh in his face if John would ever even consider asking him that question. And yet, on this late night after this… this incident that closely resembled a fight, their first big fight… he had come here. Was some part in him - deep, deep down remembering something? Did he even choose this place on purpose?

"You can come out now, John." Sherlock stubbed out the cigarette and looked over his shoulder where John slowly came out of his hiding place.

Well, no surprise there. Sherlock Holmes would know if someone was following him.

"I tried to shake you off. Can't you take a hint? It's usually when I am jumping over more fences than necessary!"

John came closer, his hands in his pockets. Sherlock wanted to go with resentment? Fine, two could play at this game.

"Fuck you, okay? I'm the one who is supposed to be mad here."

Sherlock glared at the street in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees. John didn't sit down, he wanted to have the advantage of height at least once. "You have no right to speak to me like that!" Suddenly, his anger had taken over. It wasn't just Sherlock's way of dealing with this. He felt hurt. Usually he didn't take Sherlock's crap personally, but now was not the time.

"Where were you? Huh? Why didn't you tell me where you were going? Can you imagine how that feels? Can you _please_ just for once, just one time, okay? Could you please try to put yourself in my shoes? Try to feel what I feel! I know you can do that. You are capable of deducing people's feelings everyday. Don't tell me you're not empathetic! You just choose not to! Cut the crap, Sherlock! You are not fooling me! I know you, okay?"

A few lights were turned on in the neighbourhood, John was screaming his head off. "So just do it for me! Try to _feel_ what it means when the person you love just walks out on you without saying a word!" John was breathing heavily. He ran his hand through his hair. God! How could Sherlock be so ignorant? And more importantly, John knew what he had gotten himself into, why was he so angry? He was pacing around, until he noticed that Sherlock was staring at him. He tried to make out the look on his face in the dark… it was… he was smiling? Was he really smiling at him? That stupid little prick! But it wasn't his usual snotty smile. It was… it was a happy smile.

"Why the hell are you smiling at me?" John said in confusion, his hands on his hips.

"You love me?"

Sherlock had mumbled those words with tears in his eyes.

And just at this moment, when these words where running through John's head, the door of the cabin flew open.

"We need to get married!" Sherlock announced. And John slammed back into the pillows.

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

"Excuse me?" John sat up again and looked at Sherlock. He had to make sure it was really him standing in the room, really him saying those words. Otherwise it probably would have been a fever dream. He really considered that. Was his mind playing tricks on him?

"I hear there are tax privileges!" Nope! Was this a joke? How could he be joking about something like that? John felt the bed shift as Sherlock sat down beside him, dropping a bag which probably held the medicine. He saw Sherlock screw open a bottle of cough syrup.

What was going on in this silly little head of his? Sherlock always thought John could follow his thoughts but to be honest, he just nodded along most of the time. And now… How was he supposed to know what led him up to this unimaginable question! What thoughts had been running through his head up to the moment he had opened the door to the cabin? How was he supposed to make the connection?

It wasn't even a question! Sherlock hadn't _asked_ him to marry – dear lord he had a hard time even thinking the word - him… he sort of _demanded_ it. And his current behaviour made it even harder to take him seriously.

His hand was hovering in front of John's mouth, a spoon with cough syrup in his fingers.

"Open!" John didn't know how to respond, his brain was not capable of functioning normally anyway. So he just opened his mouth and let Sherlock slide the cold steel into his mouth.

"Swallow." Sherlock looked at him a little confused. Well, it was pretty unusual that John had to be told how to maintain normal life-sustaining procedures. It _was_ normal to Sherlock, being fed by John, but not the other way around.

"Take these to get the fever down." Sherlock handed him two pills and a glass of water and John did what the nurse told him to.

This was all so overwhelming. Just like the time he had first met him. Two minutes in a freakin morgue and already making plans to move in together. Did Sherlock just _assume _that he was okay with this? Did Sherlock really just didn't acknowledge what this meant? At least to other people, to John.

The last words they had spoken had been in anger and frustration of the other one's stubbornness. And now they were just gonna move on to this?

While John tried to make sense of Sherlock's _proposal _– oh my god, could you really call it that? – this other thought crept into his mind.

What if he _is_ serious? He basically just said that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you! How do you feel about that? Is that the medicine kicking in or are you really having this warm tingly feeling in your stomach when you think about this?

"Could you repeat what you just said?" Okay, just to make sure he really _did_ say that. I mean, you don't want to sound like a doofus if he didn't actually_ ask you to marry him. _Shit. Shit shitty shit shit.

"I said take the pills to get the fever down. You just took them." Sherlock raised one eyebrow, still rummaging in the medicine bag.

"No, not that! The other thing."

Sherlock looked up to him – just for a second. Did he think he could sneak in the question without John noticing? Did he hope that he would just say yes if he surprised him like that? John didn't look into his eyes for long but he saw a spark of anxiety. No! Sherlock couldn't have planned this, could he?

"The marriage thing?" Shit. Sherlock was walking around the cabin now, putting a kettle over the fire and throwing some ice into.

"Yeah…" John rubbed his head and swung his legs around to stand up. Sherlock was immediately beside him.

"I think you should stay in bed for a while." No! That was enough now. He couldn't let this go on any longer! What the hell was Sherlock thinking?

"DID YOU REALLY JUST ASK ME TO MARRY YOU?" John yelled so loud that Sherlock twitched in shock and moved back a little. He looked like a beaten puppy.

After John had opened his eyes again, regret washed through him. Great. That was so not the way he wanted to handle this. This was so not the way he expected Sherlock's marriage proposal to be like – hold up! Did he even have expectations how this was supposed to go? Had he thought about that? He did, didn't he? John sighed and waved his arms for Sherlock to come closer.

"I'm sorry. - - Did you just propose to me?" he said, now almost a whisper, a little afraid of the words.

Sherlock closed his jaw and relaxed his shoulders.

"I want to keep my promise." he murmured.

"Sorry, honey. Could you speak up a little?"

Sherlock took a long breath, straightened up and then he said it again. This time confidently, the words echoing off the walls of the small cabin. "I want to keep my promise."

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><p>"I can't do this! I will not let him take you away from me, okay?" Sherlock was wildly gesturing. The fire was out again. The darkness of the night crept into the cabin. The room cold, and not just from the temperature outside. Their argument had sucked the last energy out of them that they had left. There was no way escaping it. Sherlock would always be like this.<p>

John could hear the desperation in his voice, see the tremor in his hands. The fight just kept going around and around, there was no way to end this. It had been going on for hours now! His head felt like it was about to explode. And Sherlock would always act this way, leaving him behind. He just didn't understand what that meant to John. It wasn't that it seemed like an act of distrust, he didn't care how much of a _proof of love _it seemed to Sherlock that he wanted to keep John save. It was the pain of being left behind. The guaranty that he would be completely alone because Sherlock would not come back if he did this one more time. He didn't want to sound presumptuous but it was true. Sometimes Sherlock was just a kid. He didn't know any better. He didn't know what he was getting into. Even though his brain made him the most down-to-earth person John knew, it also made him hang in the clouds. He wasn't sure if Sherlock even realized that this was real. That this wasn't just a not-so-friendly game of Cluedo.

He could see it. He could see himself sitting in Baker Street in their flat. The way it seemed emptier than it had ever been. Even though Mrs Hudson was there and Mycroft and Lestrade, even Anderson and Donovan, everybody dressed in black. They were moving around, talking to each other but he would just sit there - in a bubble. It didn't matter that he would have been his lover or even his husband by then. He would lose his best friend. He just couldn't deal with that. He refused to let it be like this. Suddenly he realized that Sherlock probably thought the same thing. They were both scared of being the only one left.

"He can't do it if you won't let him. And the way I see it is that there are three possible scenarios. Either you go off by yourself, you _die_ – and don't you believe you're clever enough to beat him on your own! Because you're not on the same level. Because you care! – I'm gonna be the one left behind. Or you don't do it on your own, I get killed. Well. - - And behind door three is the option that we are both dead."

Sherlock almost interrupted John right then. "BUT! We could also get out both alive. Because… - that is the one you're not considering, right? You have people that could actually _help _you Sherlock! You are not like him and you will never be. He's alone, he doesn't _actually_ matter to anyone. - - Do you remember the night we were at the pool?"

Sherlock looked at John and frowned.

"I can see your face right in front of me, the way you looked at me, even now after almost a year. Even though you went off on your own - It's the night I fell in love with you."

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><p>"You promised me." Sherlock said under his breath, he wasn't sure if he was allowed to speak up for himself yet. Was it enough that he had told John he would keep his promise? Was he still mad at him?<p>

"And what was that exactly?" John was a little tired of Sherlock's thought process. They just kept jumping around! He was way to sick and this fight had been going on for way to long for him to make the effort to work out on his own what Sherlock meant.

"You said that you would make sure that I was not going to be buried in the deer stalker."

John laughed out loud. This man! He gave up! He would never find out how his brain worked. But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that was the thing he loved most about Sherlock, the way he could surprise him like that.

"And what?" He waited for Sherlock to say something. But he just looked at him like a scared little kid.

"Well, it means that you're going to stay with me until I die. For the rest of my life." John gasped at Sherlock's silly conclusion. That was probably the simultaneously stupidest and sweetest thing he had heard in his life.

"You know, I was just thinking about the night I told you that I love you for the first time." Sherlock lit up with a smile. They just looked at each other for a while. John didn't even know why he responded like that. But he was sure Sherlock would know. It was the way his mind worked.

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><p>All writers love reviews! They're like a drug to us :P and they usually make us work harder! - just something to think about ;)<p> 


	9. Chapter 9

Time has come for the final chapter... which makes me kind of sad :( I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I did writing it, be kind and leave a review :)

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><p>"Why do all of our fights end in love confessions?" John chuckled and stroked Sherlock's hands with his thumb. He couldn't even remember how they ended up holding hands. But it felt natural. A thing their hands would easily end up with, somehow becoming a reflex over time.<p>

"I don't know." Sherlock smiled, he still looked a little embarrassed.

John let out a long breath and looked around the cabin before he managed to get the words out: "Why did you ask me to marry you?"

"Seems logical to me." A smirk from Sherlock.

"Really, does it?"

"Sure."

"Why do you think we need to get married anyway?"

"It's what people do, right?"

"Yeah… but we are not exactly 'people'. You remember what I told you, right?"

Sherlock's smile vanished as he looked out of the window, his mouth opening and closing a few times as if he was trying to say something. It sounded like John was rejecting him but he wasn't. He knew that he would never do that. He would have never even considered to ask him the question if he wasn't entirely and 100% sure how John's answer was going to be. But he had known for a while now.

John was the first to say 'I love you', he was always the one expressing his feelings. Sherlock was sick of being the 'stone'. He was sick of keeping up the façade that he had built so neatly around him, making sure nobody was able to look through it. And yet there had been someone. There had been someone who had destroyed it without even realizing it was there.

"I don't mean we need to get married, John. I mean, I said it in those words but… what I really meant is… I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. For the first time in my life, I _need_ someone to know how I feel. I need you to know that I mean that. I don't want to play mind games, I don't want you to read between the lines. I don't want you to deduce how I feel, I just want to _say_ it! I'll even write it down for you! Give me a piece of paper…" Sherlock was looking around but John captured his hands again and smiled. "I don't think that's necessary, Sherlock." Sherlock sighed at his own behaviour and smiled at John, looking him straight in the eye without blinking.

"I love you. I will always love you. I want you to know that. And I also want you to know that I would die for you. And I want to keep my promise. And if we make it, if we get old and cranky and you have to walk around with a cane again, I'll be there. We'll be the two annoying old detectives bothering the Scotland Yard with stuff that they're still doing wrong. Children will be afraid of us, especially if their parents are Anderson and Donovan.

- - You're it. You're all I never asked for but got anyway. - - I used to be scared of dying. I used to have this desperate desire to leave my imprint on the world. I wanted to be someone who would be remembered, not for changing the world – for doing what I do, keeping track of the details and making something out of that. And I was terrified that I wasn't able to finish what I started. I don't even know what '_it' _is. I don't even know how to finish it. But I know that _you_ give me time to breath. Your love – the purity and the truth that is your love takes that fear away from me. The fear of death. Even when we were standing at that pool and I saw the same fear in your eyes, I knew that it was going to be okay. You made me the man that I am. You set me free. Here I was walking around thinking that all these emotions and love would enslave me! I was _so_ wrong. It made me the man I was really meant to be. And all this. This stupid cabin, the normal things that used to bore me so much. Well – they're still boring me. But it is easier to bear.

There were times when I would get home to 221B and I would have just finished a case and I was _so_ excited! I wanted to celebrate my achievement. I wanted to hold on to that feeling, being proud of myself for deciphering the mystery. And yet I was never even acknowledged by anyone. And then you came and you said these simple words. 'Amazing' and 'extraordinary' and all these other things. And you came along with me. Happiness is only real when it is shared, John."

He didn't know if the tears running down his face were there because he hadn't been blinking for a few minutes but – never mind. They were there and they were true and honest. John reached up to his own cheek and felt these salty, wet things cling to his fingertips. He had to remind himself to breathe. The words had come done like water in a constant downfall, yet said so slowly, his urge to follow them right away, with his own confessions was so strong. But it wasn't right. He had to wait. Just another moment, just let them hang in the air for a while and let them settle down in your heart. They were big words. Such big words that needed space and time to be heard and experienced and remembered.

"And here I was thinking you were never afraid of anything. Not until now did I realize how weak you were. Only saying these things made you become someone more. Someone strong. Because talking about this is what shows your strength. And I love you. God, I love you so much." John started giggling uncontrollably while tears streamed down his face, he couldn't control his emotions anymore. And Sherlock was overwhelmed by his reaction. He cupped his face and tried to wipe away the tears but it didn't matter anyway.

"And of course I want to spend the rest of my life with you, you idiot. But you already know that anyway. You never ever have to ask me for that. It's just… a given, okay?" They both nodded wildly, the biggest smiles on their faces.

Suddenly, a car horn honked outside. John was startled and raised his head which he had placed on Sherlock's chest in their tight embrace.

"What was that?"

"Oh, I got reception when I was picking up the medicine from the car and called Mycroft. He's picking us up." Sherlock stated. John nudged him playfully and shook his head. Unbelievable!

"Let's get out of here!" John tried to stand up but Sherlock held on to his sleeve so he bounced back onto the bed.

"But I kind of liked it here, didn't you?" He whispered in his usual sexy rumble.

"Well, you can stay here and spend your days beekeeping if you like! I'll much rather chase after another psychopath." Sherlock laughed and they both left the cabin, only stopping in front of the car for a moment, gazing around the woods. The blizzard had cleared. Snow flakes tumbling down from the trees were dancing around them in the sunlight. The whole forest seemed to be lit by sparkles. It lay there in the beautiful beams of the burning sun, slowly melting away the snow.

"The storm has cleared. And the wind has made the land stronger and cleaner and better. But you still stand like a fixed point in the changing ways of nature." John smiled at Sherlock words as he took his hand and with an unusually sentimental look they departed from the cabin that had been their home for the past nights.

And as the car drove past the snow-covered trees, John was reminded of the quote by Henry David Thoreau, he who went into the woods to let them teach him, because he didn't want, when he came to die, discover that he had not lived. Maybe, just maybe these woods, this cabin had done something similar for Sherlock and him.

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><p>I borrowed some words from some amazing people for this chapter: first of all Mr Arthur Conan Doyle, you may notice it if you've read "his last bow", Christopher McCandless whom you may know from the bookmovie "Into the wild" and last but not least Mumford & Sons' "Sigh no more", beautiful song! I recommend reading/watching/listening to all three ;)

I really hope each and every one of you enjoyed reading the story and I thank everyone who took the time to review, you always make my day! :) Also thanks for alerts and favourites!

If you don't have anything to do right now, you might want to check out my new story "body's own drugs"! *shameless self-promotion* xD It's totally different from "no shit, sherlock" and this story, but so far I had a lot of fun writing it!

I'll shut up now and let you dwell in Johnlock feelings :) Thanks again for reading and lots of love to all of you!


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